


Prompt No.33: Too Much

by Anythingtoasted



Series: 100Fics [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Too Much (No. 33)<br/>Characters: Remus Lupin, sirius black<br/>Pairing: Sirius/Remus<br/>Era: wartime<br/>In which Frank and Alice are mad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt No.33: Too Much

He woke up one morning, and Frank and Alice were gone, and that was that.

There was never any warning; owls weren’t safe, so they found out together over breakfast that the Longbottoms were gone; mad; their minds spinning in a cold, strange-smelling ward, never to be the same again, Alice still pregnant, the baby not yet born. Sirius threw the paper down and left the house without a word. Remus, aching, all but crawled back into bed. He slept.

When Sirius returned he fell into place beside him. Remus had been there all day in half-sleep, his eyes shutting and opening in the wake of nightmares and stranger, softer dreams. Sirius stank of whisky but this was a normal way of dealing with things, and they all had a method. Remus hibernated. Sirius drank. He slurred a kiss across Remus’ tired mouth. He was not drunk; not really. He smelt, but he’d obviously walked it off a bit before coming home. His eyes still focused, though his pupils were blown wide. Remus looked up as Sirius sat up, leaning over him. He brushed a thumb over Remus’ cheek clumsily.

“You’re an old soul.” He said quietly, looking upset. “I always thought you were too mature for us. The oldest soul I know.” Remus sat up, unnerved. He touched his arm.

“Go to sleep.”

“Do me a favour, Moons. Don’t die.” He said earnestly, and Remus tried to match it, still groggy.

“I won’t.” He pressed their foreheads against eachother. “I promise.”

Sirius nodded, satisfied, and slid down, rolling over to sleep. Remus curled beside him but stared at the ceiling, feeling guilty.

He had a plan; he was quitting the war. He was cancelling his subscription to the Prophet tomorrow; he would ‘lose’ the front door keys and lock them inside. He would curl in the bed with Sirius, refuse all summons, pretend it was a honeymoon, of sorts. He would quit the war and all that came with it because this was too much, it was killing them both, and he didn’t want to break his promise. Not if he could help it.

He laid his hand, flat, against Sirius’ naked back. He could feel him breathe, and he tried to synchronise his own breaths with it, make them a single thing, something new, something exempt from enlisting. He tried to remove them from everything, make them safe, draw them into a sleep that would carry them out of the war. So there wouldn’t be grief, or suspicion, or paranoia. No ‘missions’ to god knows where, no sitting at home late at night, begging a god he didn’t believe in to _please_  –  _please bring him home, make them safe. Please end this._

When morning came though, Sirius was gone, and a note was left in his place, on the other pillow. It said,  _I won’t be home tonight,_  and kisses. Remus went back to sleep.


End file.
